Secrets
by Number Ten
Summary: Wind the clock back to when the Baudelaires were at boarding school. They meet their friends the Quagmires, but what if they met someone else too. Someone who was skilled and had secrets of her own to hide. As the events of the story unfold, the new friend begins to uncover some terrible truths which she must share with the others before it's too late.
1. Prologue

Prologue

 _All rights of characters, settings and story go to Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler). Please review_

"Be safe," the voice from the front of the seat called to her.

The young girl with her hair pulled back to keep it out of her eyes stepped out of a small yellow car, often used for transporting strangers to wherever they wanted to go for a reasonable fee. The girl, however, and the man driving this yellow car were not strangers, but were in fact very close in relation to one another. She stepped onto the curb of the street with her backpack on her back and two cases in each hand. She wore tinted sunglasses as a way of concealing her identity from others whom she might not desire to get to know. The sun was setting behind the large grey building and a lawn which even though with the fading light the girl could tell was brown and as dry as hay. By hay, I do not mean the casual greeting that you might give to a friend whom you are meeting for a cup of chai latte at a cafe in a small town just outside of Paris or to an acquaintance whom you happened to have bumped into on your way to the library to return a book of codes. Nor do I mean the word that one might use when attempting to lure a villainous man away from an unsuspecting baby rabbit in which he was attempting to scare or possibly attack. By hay, I meant the dried food that is often found in barns to soften the ground as you fall from the rafters or to feed to unsuspecting animals, who may in fact simply spit up the food that was given to them when you are not looking. The girl who stood on the curb knew that this grass would be better used as animal feed than lining the field in front of the set of grey and black buildings that were meant to represent a prestigious boarding school. It in no way enhanced her feelings that what was going to happen here was going to be anyway eventful, interesting or happy.

She looked at the pathways made of bricks which were crumbling and had moss growing in between them. The girl thought that it was rather disgusting and knew that a simple amount of heat in the form of a blowtorch or bunsen burner could clear up the unwanted growths. She simply stood there looking at what she would now be forced to call home for a little while. The words that her father had told her echoed in her head.

 _It's just for a little while. Here I know you're safe._

But this girl felt anything, but safe as the dark buildings, each shaped to look like a thumb and with blackened windows that stared at her like eyes.

"Don't forget your case in the trunk!" the voice from the front seat called.

"Right," the girl said. She went to the back and pried open the sleek back compartment of the car. She put one of her cases under her arm and grabbed an oddly shaped case from the pile of suitcases that belonged to the driver. She carried her luggage to the curb and left them there so she could return to close the trunk. She then went around to the driving side of the bright yellow car in which the driver rolled down the window. He stuck his head out and kissed the girl on the top of her head. Both father and daughter tried to hold back the sadness and tears within themselves.

"It will only be for a little while," the man said for the seventh time since the girl found out that she would be dropped off here.

"I know," the girl said.

"Be safe and remember your skills," he said. "If something should happen, use those skills to disappear."

"Yes sir," the girl said quietly.

"And remember," he added. "If someone asks if this is a sad occasion you say..."

"The world is quiet here," the girl finished.

"Good girl. I love you, be safe," he said as he rolled up the window and put the car into gear. He waved at her one last time before driving off down the street, turning a corner and disappearing.

I wish I could tell you now that this girl would, in fact, see this man again; she would be so happy to be reunited with her father and be allowed to kiss him once more, but unfortunately, my duty is to record the actual events that occurred and not make up some happy ending. Which reminds me, if you are reading this book right now, it would be best to put this story down and find something more pleasant to read, for the events contained within this book are unbearably sad and unusually mysterious. So much so that it still has me shed a tear whenever I read over my work before sealing it in an envelope, taking it down to the local mailbox and slipping it into a false compartment designed specifically to hide this work.

The girl picked up her cases from the sidewalk and walked towards a large stone archway that was meant to greet each individual as they made their way onto the grounds. The archway itself had large black letters pasted on the top which were put in such a manner that it looked like a rainbow. A rainbow of black and grey letters spelling out this message for the girl as she walked underneath it carrying her cases...

"PRUFROCK PREPARATORY SCHOOL" and underneath it were the words 'Memento Mori' which the girl knew meant this...

'Remember you will die'

 _I should be so lucky_ the girl thought.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Dismal" would be a word to describe certain situations in which one might find themselves in during their lifetime.

For example, it was a dismal day when a fellow colleague of mine boarded a train bound for Middleton, Ohio and this train happened to be carrying a series of large cages, in each contained a large weasel with sharp teeth and equally sharp claws. Somehow, during the train ride, the weasels managed to pick the locks on their cages and pry open the door of the baggage car. During said time, my colleague was having lunch was halfway through a peanut butter and tuna sandwich when the weasels surrounded him. It is a well-known fact that weasels like peanut butter, especially on toast, but on this unfortunate day, were willing to eat the peanut butter with tuna. They began clawing and biting my colleague with those sharp teeth so that he would release the sandwich for them. His cries of pain and strange dance as he attempted to fight off the attacking weasels caught the attention of other passengers who called for the conductor. The conductor came over and lured the weasels away with more peanut butter. It was a particularly dismal day as my colleague did not make it to his location as he was forced off the train into a hospital bed in which he was given peroxide and several rabies shots, which I'm you know are very dismal indeed.

Another particular dismal situation was when the woman I loved so dearly and myself planned to go for a picnic by the seashore. It was going to be a wonderful afternoon in which we could discuss current events, as well as watch sailboats, go by. However, due to my lack of foresight into meteorology, our picnic ended up being ruined due to dismal weather with rain, thunder and an unfortunate amount of sea lions, all whom chased us away from our picnic spot and ate all the wonderful food that the women I loved so dearly had worked hard to prepare. We ended up sitting under a tree in wet clothing, discussing the current situation of the sea lions eating our food and the waves overturning any boats that were unlucky enough to be caught in the rough waves. Of course, much more dismal things happened to both of us since then, mostly separately, but the day still sticks out in my mind as a particularly dismal event.

As dismal as these situations might be, nothing could be as unfortunate as you coming across this dismal book. If you which to find something happy and upbeat within these pages, I suggest that you drop this book down or feed it to some hungry weasels or sea lions and find something else to read. Much like my research with the Baudelaires, this story is no less dismal than any of the ones I have written before.

The girl which this story follows is a girl named Holly S. There is no indication of a last name, at least not one that I am aware of. My research into this young girl's life is limited because any time I found documentation of her name, it was always blotted out, something I could never quite explain, but my assumption was to keep her name concealed from the unwanted eyes of her enemies. Much like future events, Holly S's life is clouded in mystery, misinformation and a sense of murkiness, a phrase which here means, unclear and hard to explain. The best I can give you on her life before she came to Prufrock Preparatory School was that she lived with one guardian, her father since she was six years old. She lived on the outskirts of a small seaside town that I am unable to find the name of and that she enjoyed a good swim in the lake rather frequently. Unlike my investigation with the Baudelaires, I have not had the opportunity to visit where Holly supposedly visited and lived, mostly due to a financial strain, as well as my recovery from an unfortunate incident involving a blow torch, a pound of molasses and a ship's fog horn. That itself was a very dismal episode.

It was also a very dismal day and equally dismal night when this young girl was dropped off on the doorstep of Prufrock Preparatory School. Despite the very dismal weather that had been plaguing this part of the city at this particular time, the girl had been dropped off at night, when the school and the administration office in which she was supposed to register was closed for the night. This left her without a bed or a roof over her head or a peanut butter and tuna fish sandwich to eat while she waited. At that particular moment, Holly had wished that she may have been attacked by hungry weasels or been rained on or been showered with molasses than be in this dismal place.

This was far from an ideal situation, being forced from her home with little to no explanation and taken from her friends and family to "somewhere safe." As well as being left at a boarding school in which she knew no one and watched her loving guardian disappear for what she felt like would be forever. And now she waited outside in the cold wind and dreary darkness for the school to open so she could find her room and her classroom.

Holly laid her head down on her suitcase, pulled her coat over herself to conserve her body heat and attempted to allow herself to sleep. However, the sounds of dried leaves blowing across the moss-covered pavement or the creaking sounds of the tombstone coloured building above her as well as the darkness that surrounded her, she slept very little.

Holly, of course, had never been particularly afraid of the dark. It gave her comfort and a surreal atmosphere in which she could rest her mind and body for approximately eight hours or so. It also gave her great cover when she wanted to be hidden from sight for any particular reason, but many of these situations happened when she was in a safe, familiar and warm place, not on a stranges' schoolyard with thumb-shaped buildings.

Holly did her best to close her eyes and imagine herself by the seashore instead of the dismal boarding school in which she was forced to start attending.

As the sun rose into the sky, Holly blinked and rubbed what little sleep she got from her eyes before standing up. She heard a heavy clunk on the far side of the door, most likely indicating that the administration office was now open for the day. Holly S. dug into one of her suitcases and found the appropriate paperwork needed for her registration at Prufrock Preparatory School. She had to find Vice Principal Nero's office, which was on the ninth floor of the main building, in which she had spent the night underneath in discomfort.

Holly walked into the administration building, leaving her cases in the hall outside the office. She began to hear a terrible noise coming from inside. It was as shrill as a fire alarm and as loud as a foghorn in which she had grown used to hearing on those particularly foggy days in her seaside town. She opened the door and she was surprised at what she saw. Instead of a young looking secretary, perhaps twenty-five or six, with thick glasses and wearing bargain bin striped pantsuit that was wrinkled and faded from constant use. Or perhaps a gentleman, a few years close to retirement dressed in check coloured suit and had a thick gray beard who smoked a pipe under this facial hair. Instead, Holly S. found a baby, not much bigger than a salami or a boot, trying hard to staple some sheets of paper together. A small girl with a small clump of hair wrapped up in a small ribbon and what appeared to be the sharpest four teeth that Holly had ever seen.

Holly was more surprised couldn't believe that a school would have an infant for a secretary instead of the girl's four very sharp teeth. She knew immediately that babies should not even have professions for many reasons. One was they could scarcely talk without making much sense, which broadened the question of how this child answered the phone or wrote letters for her boss. Another reason was that babies should not be playing near anything sharp, particularly staplers or fountain pens and Holly could see from the little child's fingers that she had already hurt herself several times attempting to work this machinery. However, it seemed that based on the child's equally sharp teeth, she would be used to such injuries. The final reason was that everything used in secretarial duties was designed for adults not for children, let alone babies. Holly immediately knew that she had stepped into some bizarre paradigm where babies were employed as secretaries. Were preschoolers teaching the classes?

"Blugrag?" the baby asked, looking up from the paperwork in

"Pardon?" Holly said politely.

"Blurag?" the child repeated.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Holly said, feeling slightly bad as she knew the child was trying to communicate as best she could.

"Blurag!" the girl insisted, which probably meant something along the lines of "Good morning, how are you? Welcome to Prufrock Preparatory School, how may I help you?"

"I'm here to see Vice Principal Nero, I'm a new student," Holly said, trying to be as nice as possible.

As the two were talking, the same loud and shrill noise was coming from the office next to the baby's desk. It became difficult for Holly to concentrate on speaking to the baby as the sounds from the adjacent room sounded like someone had put a cat in a burlap bag and was beating it against the wall.

"Kicka," the girl shrieked, which probably meant, "Knock as loudly as you can." The child also pointed to the door to get her point across.

Holly went up to the heavy oak door and knocked as loud as she possibly could. The noise she made with her knuckles was not particularly pleasant, but anything was better than the horrid sounds on the other side.

"Who is it? Who dares interrupt me in the middle of my brilliant sonata?!"

 _Sonata my foot!_ Holly groaned to herself. _I could write a better sonata with my eyes shut!_

Holly entered the room which was small and very bare, with the exception of a metal desk with a metal chair and a metal lamp on one side of the desk. There was a single window with the ugliest curtains Holly had ever seen. They were purple and had snails on them. When Holly looked at the man in the centre of the room and he was the ugliest man she had ever seen. Most people would find this statement particularly insulting, however, it is hard to deny the truth when it is right in front of someone. The man had an ugly brown suit what seemed stained with something very sticky. He was rather tall and had a sort of pot belly that pushed against his ugly green vest and over his brown suit pants. His tie matched the curtains in the room and did no justice to his outfit…or his face. His face was a hideous sight to behold. He had a grungy and flushed face that seemed to lead to his nose that was bright red, which reminded Holly of an old Christmas song character she used to listen to over the holidays at home. The man was bald except for some tufts of hair along the sides by his ears, held together by old rubber bands. Holly no longer wanted to look at this man as he continued to glare at her. She looked at what he had in his hands. What looked like a violin and a stick in which the user would push up and down in order to make music. The thing looked old and unkempt, something that Holly hated, clearly, based on the sounds she heard.

"Baby! I thought I told you to keep people out while I'm rehearsing!" the man yelled at his child secretary, which Holly thought was extremely cruel and mean thing to do, especially to a baby.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I'm a new student here and I need to be registered," Holly said quickly to take the heat off the baby secretary.

" _I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I'm a new student here and I need to be registered,_ " the man said in a high and whiny voice that was so annoying and unprofessional, as well as immature, that Holly wanted to punch the man in the face then and there. She didn't however for she was a civilized girl and any such act of violence would lead to expulsion and possible jail time.

Holly swallowed her anger hard and nodded.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Vice Principal Nero!" he called to an imaginary audience. He waved his violin bow about and began taking several bows. He stopped and glared at Holly.

"It is often polite that when a genius gives a performance that listeners clap for him and shout bravo."

Holly looked at the man in disgust. What he had given was not in any way a performance and it certainly did not deserve an applause. However, Holly was a polite girl and she politely wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible so she began to clap her hands and muttered bravo under her breath.

Vice Principal Nero took several more bows before sitting in his metal chair.

"Welcome to Prufrock Preparatory School and blah, blah, blah," he said rudely, clearly bored at the prospect of welcoming a new student. "Normally, we don't take in new students in the middle of the semester but your father paid a very handsome sum of money so we generously let you in.

Holly wanted to scoff, clearly, this man did not have a generous bone in his body, which of course is a figure of speech to show just how dismal a person really is. There is, of course, no such bone in anybody, and if there was, not many people would have it, including yours truly.

"Thank you, sir," Holly said through gritted teeth.

"Now this is the administration building, which is off-limits to students at all times. You are forgiven for your first day but if you are ever seen in here again, your silverware will be taken away and you will have to eat with your hands."

He walked to the window and pointed out on the campus, which, from nine-storeys up looked like a dirt road with discarded black rocks all over it.

"The gray building there," he indicated with his chubby, red fingers, "is the building with the classrooms. You will be in Room Three with Mr. Chandrid. Can you remember Room Three?" Nero said as if Holly was stupid and needed reminding. "If you can't, I'll write the words down on your hand with permanent ink."

"I can remember that fine thank you," Holly snapped. She took a step back and pulled her hands out of reach of this grubby man.

"If you are late to classes, your hands will be tied behind your back and you will be forced to eat your food like a dog." Holly did her best not to gasp. Instead of a normal punishment like a slap on the wrist or detention, this sounded like a form of torture. Vice Principal Nero, of course, ignored her expression and continued on.

"The building on the left there is the cafeteria. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are served promptly at breakfast time, lunchtime, and dinnertime and if you are late, your glass and cup will be taken away and served in puddles instead."

Holly wanted to point out how stupid that sounded and how liquids of any kind would not stay in puddles for very long and just get everything wet.

"The rectangular building over there is the auditorium in which I give mandatory six-hour performances every single night. Mandatory means…"

"I know what it means!" Holly insisted.

"Anyone who fails to show up will have to buy me a bag of candy and watch me eat it. The lawn is our gym class field. We will be getting a new replacement gym teacher very soon because our previous one fell out of a third-storey window. The students, until then, are required to run laps"

"I'm sorry," Holly said to win some form of gratitude with this dismal man.

" _I'm sorry_!" Nero said in his mocking tone. "It can't be helped, anyways the dormitory is the gray building there, shaped like a big toe and made of stone. Prufrock Preparatory School has a marvellous dormitory. There is a huge living room with a brick fireplace, a game room and large, lending library. Each student has his or her own room with a bowl of fresh fruit placed there every Wednesday."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Holly admitted.

" _That doesn't sound so bad…_ " the Vice Principal mocked before continuing on. "Anyways, do you have your permission slip in order for you to allowed in the dormitory?"

"Yes sir," Holly said. She pulled out the slip of paper with her father's signature on it. She hands it to the man. The man looked at it over his large red nose.

"That's fine, you will go to the dormitory registration office, which is on the sixth floor of this building and get your room assignment. From there, you should go to lunch. Are there any questions?"

Holly, of course, had many questions she wanted to be answered. Why am I here? Why must I be thrown into this dreadful place? Why do you think you can play the violin? Why are the punishments so strict and stupid? Why is there a baby as your secretary? Why is the grass so dead and why do you reek of dead fish and sweat? Holly, of course, was too polite or too stunned to ask any of these questions and shook her head no.

"No sir," Holly said.

"Good now get out of my sight so I can begin composing my sonata for tonight's performance," the vice principal said, standing up again and retrieving his violin.

Holly walked out of the room and shut the door. Unfortunately, the door did little to drown out the terrible sounds that began to play again. Holly was walking to the door when she saw the young baby struggling to push down on the stapler to staple a rather thick pile of papers together.

Holly goes over to help.

"Need a hand?" Holly asked.

The baby looked up at her and nodded. The older girl was impressed that the baby understood her so well.

 _She must be very smart,_ Holly thought.

"It's easier to staple small piles at a time and then put them all together with a paper clip," Holly explained. She knew she could get in trouble for helping the child instead of going down the dormitory floor, but Holly couldn't help but feel bad for this girl. Besides, with the loud noises coming from the office, there was little chance that she would be found out.

Holly sorted the papers accordingly and then stapled the packages neatly, while the baby searched the desk for a paper clip.

When she was done, Holly put the paper clip on the pages and put them neatly on the desk. The baby flashed a large toothy smile at Holly.

"I never got to ask your name," Holly said. "I'm Holly S."

"Sunny!" the girl shrieked, which probably mean something along the lines of, "My name is Sunny Baudelaire, nice to meet you."

"I hope to see you around Sunny," Holly said before she exited the dismal office.

As she walked down the hall with her cases, Holly weighed the pros and cons of her situation. Most were bad, but some were good. At least she had a nice room to stay in, a proper bed to sleep in, and at least she knew someone now, who was a baby, but nonetheless someone. But the fact that the campus was ugly, the punishments were stupid and harsh, she had to listen to that vice-principal screech away on his violin for six hours and she still had no idea why she was even here, her situation was a dismal and confusing one.

As she descended the stairs to the six floor, Holly could only think about one thing.

 _Why am I here?_


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

At one time in your life, you may find yourself in a, particularly difficult dilemma. One that will have you looking in two different directions and wondering what path will serve you the greatest advantage on your journey through life. A dilemma in which that you would either come to be overly zealous, a phrase which here means full of enthusiasm and excitement and has nothing to do with a kind of dressing that one would put on their salads or blind their enemies at the salad bar in order to escape being arrested. That is known as zesty, a phrase that one might use to describe something fresh or invigorating, like the taste of a spicy sort of dressing applied to green vegetable leaves or another way to describe an individual who is particularly enthusiastic and possibly a bit annoying.

Or that dilemma will leave you feeling overly sad and depressed, a phrase that I, myself, am all too familiar with. Words that define the Baudelaire's own story and the story of a woman I once loved so deeply, that the mere mention of her name will bring unfortunate tears to my eyes. I cannot say for certain, but I've been led to believe that she once faced a difficult dilemma, one in which she wrote me the 200-page manuscript to tell me in full and scrupulous detail as to why she could not accept my proposal of marriage. A dilemma that left neither one of us feeling particularly enthusiastic or applying a spiced dressing to our salads.

I like to believe that Holly S. faced a particularly difficult dilemma the day in which she entered through the front doors of Prufrock Preparatory School's cafeteria and stood in line with many children, all of whom were more or less the same age as herself awaiting the opportunity to get food to feed her hungry stomach. Sadly, the cafeteria's offering for a mid-day meal could hardly be viewed as a dilemma of their own, considering the food provided was in fact rather sad and very annoying.

The course that day was, in fact, a green salad, if it could even be called green as many of leaves looked rather unappetizing and limp from a lack of exposure to water. Holly had learned about osmosis at her normal, everyday school, which was a process in which molecules such as water pass through semi-permeable membranes, a phrase which here means a lining that would allow certain things through, but not others. This can be applied to celery or a fresh green vegetable which used osmosis to remain fresh a crispier for longer periods of time. But Holly herself felt as if she were a molecule, trying to pass through a semipermeable membrane, except in the form of students lining the hall of the cafeteria. She hardly noticed the size of the salad bowl, which appeared to be the size of a pickup truck, in which her lunch was being served with fairly fresh carrots and slightly squished cherry tomatoes. She merely mouthed a subtle thank you to the strange cafeteria workers who wore metal masks with only two small holes for their eyes to peek through. She barely had time to think about why the workers would wear this protective gear if the dinner was neither hot or particularly bad smelling. Her mind was filled with many questions, questions that could not be answered when another cafeteria worker globbed two types of dressings to the side of her plate and she could scarcely think of anything else when she is given her cutlery. Inside Holly S, a dilemma was arising, one that clouded her thoughts and made her feel troubled more and more with the passing moments.

A dilemma that tore her apart from the inside out, a decision that she knew would either have her feel as excited and zesty as the dressing provided next to the limp leaves she now possessed on her tray or rather blue as the alternative flavour dressing that had been provided to for vegetarian meal…

 _Where would she sit_?

She gazed out at the large crowd of students, all sitting down at long rectangular tables and creating a rather boisterous amount of noise amongst themselves, a word which can mean very loud and extremely unpleasant to listen to, especially to a new student.

Holly could tell immediately which children had recently been punished by Vice-Principal Nero; some children were eating their salads with no silverware, the penalty for being in the administration building, this caused the different types of sticky dressings to appear on their fingers. There were other children who had their hands tied behind their backs, a dreadful sentence for being late to class. The girl in which we follow in this story felt rather sorry for the children forced to eat like a dog rather than a detention slip and a slap on the wrist. And finally, she saw several children walk past her with puddles of liquids on their trays instead of glasses, indicating to her that they had been late to meals before.

However, Holly S had her own problems in which she had to cope with as the dilemma still prayed in her mind. She kept her rather significantly vibrant green eyes cast downwards, hidden by her mouse-brown hair, as if ashamed to be standing with nowhere else to sit. She felt like one of those sad and depressed molecules that could not break through the membrane in order to travel onwards towards a new destination. She could feel her stomach twist in an unpleasant manner as several students eventually took notice of the new face in the crowd and began talking rather loudly about her.

"Who's that?" one student whispered.

"What's wrong with her eyes?"

"She looks rather freakish."

"Do you think she's a cake sniffer?"

The last statement confused the girl but allowed her to finally put her dilemma at rest. She walked to the far side of the cafeteria, away from the loud comments being made about her. If she was going to be a molecule, it was clear she couldn't get through this membrane of strangers.

Holly S sat at the very end of the very last table, in order to make herself invisible to the other students. This, of course, is not possible in real life, but the young girl was merely trying to blend in with the crowd and avoid any further prying eyes of her peers. She felt rather ashamed, even though she had not done anything particularly embarrassing or possibly devious that could induce guilt. She used her fork and twisted the wilted and lifeless lettuce around on her plate, not feeling hungry. She swirled the salad in both kinds of dressing, neither of which were to her especially her favourite kind of sauce to give her lettuce some added flavour.

She was not performing osmosis herself as she completely refused to eat anything nourishing; creating an impossible membrane and not allowing food inside, another scientific term of which escapes me at the current moment.

In the end, Holly merely ended up looking around at the students, seeing if any of them looked particularly friendly or willing to offer her a seat next to them, but sadly none seemed to want to pay attention to her. It was then that the young girl felt another, smaller, dilemma inside herself, whether she wanted to make friends or be invisible.

Eventually, she got up from where she is sitting, tired of being a lone molecule in an impermeable membrane, bussed her tray and disappeared into the gloomy hallways of the school. She goes back towards her dormitory to gather her school books and prepare for afternoon classes.

The girl had hardly even glanced at the room in which she would be staying and sleeping in for the foreseeable future. She now had the chance to take a longer look, but it was not particularly exciting.

The room was painted an unattractive beige colouring, none of which had any zest or excitement to it; there was a bed pushed up against the far wall, underneath a window that was partially open, it was framed by light blue curtains on either side. The curtains seemed to ripple almost like water in the breeze, but the problem was the window would not closed properly, making the room rather chilly and Holly would expect it to get worse at night. In the corner near the door was a small desk with a brass table lamp that could hardly be considered appropriate for use to study late at night. There was a closet with several hangers inside and a dresser to put any additional clothing inside. The bowl of fruit that was placed there every Wednesday did not do much to excite the girl either because the fruit was beginning to rot and smell, so much so that it was attracting flies and Holly just tossed them away in the nearest trash receptacle.

One might consider this place particularly comfortable and safe, especially in confusing and worrisome times that Holly was facing, but the girl couldn't help but feel sad. The room may have been unattractive looking and cold, but it did not matter if the room was filled with vibrant colours and incredibly warm because to Holly, it wasn't home. It did not have pictures of her family and friends hanging on the wall, there was no mirror in which she could gaze at herself while she was dancing and singing to music in private. Something that I, myself, would often catch a glimpse of my sister doing in the early years of her life. There was no place for her favourite books or collection of seashells from her seaside home, anything else that made the girl feels comfortable and safe.

Holly S decided to worry about the room at another time. Instead, she gathered all her school supplies and the funny-shaped case that she often carried with her. She then went towards the building in which her class would be held when she happened to pass the long rectangular building with a rounded top. The girl though back to the rather uninteresting tour she was given by Vice-Principal Nero from his ninth-storey window and could vaguely recall that this was the auditorium, where the man calling himself a violinist would give six-hour performances. Holly could not imagine listening to the poor excuse for music from the rather unpleasant looking man who ran the boarding school. She partially wished that her ears would prevent the terrible sounds from reaching her ears, creating a temporarily impermeable membrane for the mandatory shows.

Despite how she was feeling, Holly could not resist going inside the large building. She looked in the auditorium at the rows and rows of seats, all covered in red faded velvet and then at the stage, with its large matching curtains that appeared to be in need of a cleaning.

Her heart skipped a beat for a moment, memories flooding back to when she was in places like this; how much she enjoyed the echo of words and music bouncing off the walls and the bright lights beaming down on the performer. It was something she hoped to always remember for the rest of her life. Strangely, her father would not take her to such places, but instead, send the girl with a neighbour or a trusted friend to an auditorium for theatre or a concert, and now Holly wished she had asked for more details as to why he did this. The only answer she ever got from her father is that he once had a bad experience in a theatre that left him unable to enter another one ever again. When she tried pressing him for more information, she could see his eyes fill with tears and Holly knew better than push the issue through this impermeable membrane any further.

With a zesty feeling in her step, one of excitement, Holly climbed the stairs to the stage and stands at the very centre, gazing out at the rows of seats. Her stomach turned, but this time in a more pleasant way. She kneels down on the wooden stage and opens her oddly shaped case.

She stood up again, putting the stringed instrument under her chin, taking a bow to an imaginary audience, a fun way to pretend that she was the star of some great orchestra. She then took her bow and began to play her violin.

 _A/N: After a very long time, I'm publishing a new chapter in honour of the release of A Series of Unfortunate Events Season 2, which I have already binge-watched. Thank you to Bragation and Not Lemony Snicket for their reviews. Keep them coming as I plan to update this more in the future._


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When one takes the time to contemplate their life over a cup of bitter tea or perhaps a root beer float, he or she or another person of undetermined gender realize that are only so many ways in which they can express a particular talent. There are many things that we realize that we will never be good at. For example, a tap dancer would never be good at becoming a spy due to their training to be incredibly loud while stomping on the stage or in tune with a particular song with a heavy beat. A scuba diver would not be able to navigate the dry climates of the Sahara Desert as they would be unfamiliar with the creatures in which reside in the said desert and a lack of understanding of reduced ability to survive without proper hydration. I, myself, have expressed the talent of being able to memorize all the important words and phrases used in a particularly important organization and a knack for defining long and complicated words to which some people would view as pretentious and pointless. While these skills have served me well in the years since I began my journey in researching the Baudelaires' woeful story, I am very much aware that my talents end after my ability to play a very bulky and complicated instrument that requires immense upper body strength. Even now as I sit, drinking a root beer float while an inquisitive young girl bearing the name of the woman I once dearly loved sits next to me. She stares up at me with curious brown eyes that remind me of someone else I care about deeply; I know my talents cannot extinguish the flames that surround both of our lives or turn back the clock to save those we hold the dearest.

Holly S, herself could be viewed as a girl of many talents. She had skills that were unique and completely her own and although not all of them were considered useful, considering the mystery she was about to become wrapped up in, she could take pride in the abilities she had to show at this moment in time. While the infamous Vice-Principal Nero had the foolish fantasy that he had a great talent for playing the violin, which he did in fact not possess, Holly was another case entirely.

She could play the violin and was far more talented and capable than the man who was many years her senior. From the scraps of papers, I have gathered from her ruined seaside home and the information smuggled to me on the napkin underneath my root beer float, Holly S had been playing the instrument for many years. Who her instructor was cannot be fully determined, but it can be assumed that the man was an old friend of her mother's and was once a great composer who wrote wonderful sonatas, ones that could rival a heavily experienced classical orchestra. Alas, his work has been lost through the test of time or burned by a bald, jealous violinist to prevent him from gaining the recognition he greatly deserved. Unlike the vice-principal of this boarding school, Holly had a good ear for music, she could tell the pitches and tones that her instrument made and knew when they needed tuning. She had practiced until her fingers practically bled from being overworked on the strings; she had memorized many songs, she even had written a few of her own, and she was capable of starting from any part in a piece of music and play until the very end. She also took great care of her instrument, polishing it and repairing the strings when they were broken. She loved making her father proud. She knew that he always listened outside her bedroom door as she practiced deep into the night, never once complaining about the noise or ordering her to go to bed. Sometimes the girl would fall asleep with the violin by her side.

Her father had told her that a violin was the reason he'd met her mother. At the time, he had been attending a symphony, many years before his daughter was born and he would get a slight gleam of sadness in his eyes as he told the tale. His eyes landed on a beautiful violinist in a long silk gown, and he could tell that she was very talented. She was highly regarded by her fellow musicians and was admired by all their friends. She had been the one to pursue a relationship with him, instead of the other way around and he'd often chuckle when recalling the time in which she serenaded to him on the empty streets one night below his hotel room. He then invited her up for a cup of tea and he knew instantly then that she would be his wife one day. It's a story I often think about when the thought of ill-fated romances comes up in a conversation or before I fall asleep at night after weeping very heavily for hours.

The man Holly knew as her father would then go on to say that her mother attempted to run violin lessons in a small studio to spread the good ear of music around. Holly's mother lived by the thought that music could communicate much more than words could and her motto in life, is "the world no longer has to be quiet with a little music…" She ran lessons for people of all ages in a small studio next to an opium den, she had the patience to help those under her supervision develop their musical talents. Holly's father told his daughter a story of an experience her mother had one day while teaching her lessons. Like many families do, Holly's father and mother would sit down at the end of every day and talk about the trials and tribulations of their respected careers.

She told the tale of a new student who had come to her studio one day and seemed very insistent on learning to play the violin. The student was a man, very close to middle-age with a pot belly, a scrunched-up face, a very red nose, and a balding head with the remaining patches of hair being held together by rubber bands. He was not a particularly pleasant man and he demanded she help teach him to play the instrument. Despite the rude demeanour, Holly's mother began the process she applied for all beginning students. She tried to teach the man how to hold a violin properly and how to move the bow back and forth to avoid the awful screeching sound often heard by beginners. However, the man then became impatient, insisting that they begin playing actual songs and when her mother refused to do so, he yelled at her. He then began scraping the bow back and forth many times over the strings, filling the studio with terrible sounds. Holly's mother insisted that they start at the beginning, but the man claimed with much prudence that he was a genius and the greatest violin player ever. Before his teacher could say anything else, he left without paying her a cent for the time in which he wasted. Her mother never saw the man again and she had to explain to the worried people in the building and the next door opium den that there was no animal being strangled, but merely a tone-deaf student. She also made a statement that Holly's father repeated to his daughter, "J, there is no worse sound in the world than somebody who cannot play the violin but insists on doing so."

However, this was not the case for Holly S. Her father maintained the belief that she inherited her mother's grand ability to play and while he was heartbroken that the woman he loved would not be able to teach their child herself, he'd fund her education, allowing her to harness and practice her talent.

What the man believed was a truthful concept. The music spilling from the young girl's hands as she confidently played her violin was sweet and melodic, a word which here means very pleasant to listen to and skillfully played with little effort. The song she was playing was one she enjoyed practicing many times over the years as it had a very upbeat feeling to it and made her want to dance along the stage to the rhythm. The song reminded her of the rolling waves that stretched onto the beach that lay just outside her front door at home or the slow gusts of wind motioning through the trees that lay just behind her back door.

Holly's ears filled with the music and a smile, the second smile she had ever managed to create since she came to this dismal school. The room seemed to light up with the sounds from her instrument and the girl did not realize that she was not alone in the building any longer.

…

Meanwhile, outside the gray auditorium building, several children were walking along the dried grass on their way to classes in Room One and Room Two. The wonderful sounding music caught them all off guard.

"Do you hear that?" a boy with glasses asked.

"Is that Vice-Principal Nero?" a girl with her hair tied up in a ribbon inquired.

"I highly doubt it," a boy with darker hair said, clutching his commonplace book in his arm. "For how long that we've been here, he's never improved, not in the slightest."

"I agree," A girl with similarly dark hair and a relatively identical face to the boy who had just spoken nodded. She then opened her own commonplace book to quote something from it. "I wrote a couplet about him just after we listened to his first concert;

 _The music played by the man is very much a curse_

 _There is not a way to which he could get any worse_."

"Well someone is playing in there," the girl with the ribbon said. "And it sounds very good."

"Should we take a peak?" the boy with glasses suggested.

"What about class?" the identical girl said.

"We still have a few minutes," the identical boy stated, and he hurried inside.

The four children opened the door to the long rectangular building with the rounded top, navigated their way through the front lobby and into the auditorium. The red velvet chairs were empty as one might expect at this time of day, but the stage was not.

"Look!" one of the girls exclaimed, pointing to the front.

The boy with darker hair peered around his friends to get a better look. All four children strain their necks to try and get a good visual of the individual playing the wonderful music.

The performer looked to be about their age, perhaps a bit older, with mouse brown hair, which was pulled back into a small ponytail. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on the music she was playing because her eyes were closed and her eyebrows were creased together with determination. Her bow expertly flew over the strings of her violin, creating very pleasant sounds as it went. Her ponytail swung several times as she moved about the stage, completely focused on her violin. She did not realize that she was now playing for an audience.

"She's amazing," the boy with glasses said. "Quite extraordinary."

"She's much better than Nero," the girl with the ribbon agreed.

"Why can't she play instead of him?" the girl with dark hair stated.

However, the boy who was identical to the girl who had just spoken said nothing as he was captivated by the performer on stage. Something about her skilled movements and confidence made him want to smile or give her a standing ovation, even though they were already standing. He appeared to notice the silkiness of her hair that helped frame her petite face. He felt his heart beat just a little bit faster than before, perhaps from excitement or from perhaps something more deeply emotional. His face also flushed a shade pinker than one might expect when observing a concert.

"Have you seen her before?" the older girl with the hair ribbon asked the younger one.

"No, I've never seen her," the dark-haired girl answered.

"She could be a new student," the boy with glasses, said, readjusting his specs to see more clearly.

"I wonder where she learned to play like that?"

The girl on stage finally finished her song, panting ever so slightly from moving around with the music. She gazed out at the rows and rows of seat, imagining that she had just played for a very large audience and they were now applauding her, shouting 'bravo' and 'brava,' phrases which hear means expressions of gratitude and appreciation for a person sharing their talent with others. She smiled outward, hearing the clapping and she took a great bow.

It's then that Holly realized that the clapping is not a figment of her imagination. After she came up from her bow, she realized that she is being applauded. She spotted four students, who looked to be around her age, maybe slightly younger, clapping loudly from the far corner of the auditorium. She swallowed hard, the realization that she'd been caught performing. She was wondering if the students would tell Vice-Principal Nero about what she had done. While she was not particularly afraid of performing in front of people and they appeared to have enjoyed her music, they could very well get her in a lot of trouble for being in a possibly restricted area of the school.

She immediately let out a small gasp of air and another small noise, that echoed in the domed ceilings of the auditorium. She frantically gathered her things, shoving her violin into its case and rushing off the stage and out the side door, unaware that she had dropped her bow in the frenzy.

"Wait!" the boy with dark hair called out. He hurried to the stage and picked up the object the girl had dropped. He and the others rush after the girl trying to catch her but are unable to see where she went in order to return her bow.

The four children, known as the orphans on campus, had their own set of unique talents that were quite useful especially in times of great adversity, a word which here means would help them when a particularly unpleasant man would return to their lives, with no particular talents of his own.

 _Please Review and special thanks to EngmaticHufflepuff for the review._


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The bell rang to mark the beginning of classes, which I'm partially happy to say that both Holly S and the children who had been watching her performance, made it to their perspective rooms with seconds to spare, able to escape the terrible punishment of having to eat food with their hands tied behind their backs.

However, if you have read my research on the Baudelaire case, which I highly discourage you not to do, you would recall that the education system at Prufrock Preparatory School was far from what one could consider satisfactory, a phrase which here means particularly interesting or useful in any sense of the word.

The teacher in Room One, where two of the four children from the auditorium were assigned, was a man named Mr. Remora, who had a dark thick moustache, which looked as if someone had chopped off a gorilla's thumb and stuck above his lip. Additionally, like various ape-like creatures, Mr. Remora also enjoyed eating bananas; which was fine and a rather healthy choice for an occasional snack, except that the teacher of Room One ate them continuously without stopping. I have recently become aware that an excessive amount of this yellow fruit can cause unpleasant side effects including poor absorption of any other foods and possible toxicity of the body, which need I remind you is an extremely unpleasant experience. Nevertheless, this risk did not seem to worry Mr. Remora as he would shove multiple bananas into his mouth during the entire class, drop the peels on the ground and smear banana pulp on his moustache, much to the disgust of his students. In between bites of this snack, he would tell tedious and fairly pointless short stories that seemed to have no academic value in which for the children in his class to learn anything useful or meaningful and every so often there would be a test about details of the boring stories.

Across the hall in Room Two, which housed two more of the children who had listened to Holly S in the auditorium, and the class was run by a woman by the name of Mrs. Bass. Mrs. Bass could also be seen to vaguely resemble a gorilla herself as she had thick black hair that was piled very high on her head. She was a poor teacher, a word that for this particular situation was someone who was considering a life of crime in order to obtain more money and she was obsessed with the metric system. Every day, she would bring in various objects including a mustard jar that she had found in her garage, a teacup with an extremely ugly pattern on the outside and an old flip-flop that had long since been broken and flattened due to it being run over by a train. Once all the objects were handed out, Mrs. Bass would should out "Measure!" and all her students would take the length, width, height, depth, radius, and circumference of each object, to which she would write them down on the blackboard, then the class would switch items, and every once in a while there would be a quiz on measurements.

As unpleasant and tedious as the lessons in both these rooms were, my research has been particularly difficult in finding the kinds of lessons which took place in Room Three, Holly's room.

As the girl rushed to the room, she did not even bother to knock which was often the polite thing to do when entering a room. However, when you do not want to be late for class and be forced to eat with your hands tied behind your back, such exceptions for rudeness could be made. Still, as Holly entered the room just as the bell rang, she was greeted by multiple pairs of staring eyes as the girl stands in the doorway, huffing and puffing as well as carrying a rather oddly shaped case with her.

"Cutting it very close on your first day Miss…uh…" the teacher at the front of the room said rather loudly. He looked down to examine his attendance.

Attendance is often known as a slip of paper that every teacher carried with them in order to ensure that the same number of children showed up to class every day. The list contains all the names of the students and the educator would then put a checkmark next to those who were present and an 'a' next to those who were not. After this, he or she would send a student down to the office with the marked list, so it could be recorded in the school's database.

There are often six ways to describe one's attendance for any event in their lives; mandatory, punctual, regular, mediocre, poor, or non-existent. Mandatory is a word which means that you must attend the event as someone has either ordered you to do so or is so important that it cannot be missed. This means the person running the event would not think particularly highly of you if you were missing and you could possibly be punished for not attending, even if you were being attacked by a hungry bear. Punctual means that no matter the weather, no matter the condition of your health or no matter if your arm was being chewed off a hungry bear, you would arrive at the event on time or perhaps even earlier. Regular could be described that you would show up to class almost every day, with the exception of days in which you may have had other engagements, like a dentist appointment or you were having your arm sewed back on after the bear attack. Mediocre is when you would come whenever you had the time to show up for class, particularly if your schedule was busy with sporting events, running errands for a secret organization, or practicing your hobby of taming wild bears. Poor attendance is when you do not show up to your events hardly at all; it can be said that your presence in class is a rare episode or event, which might not be through no fault of your own considering you might be running from the authorities or the angry bears you were attempting to tame. Finally, non-existent, a word which here means you have never shown up to your designated events, either because you have been captured by your enemies or that you have indeed been eaten by a bear.

As Holly S. stood there, she knew that she'd have to ensure that her attendance to Room Three was relatively prompt or regular in order to stay on the good side of her teacher, even if her arm was being eaten by a bear.

"But now that you are here, perhaps you would like to find a seat?"

Holly nodded and scanned the room for a place to sit. She found one at the very back of the class and slid into the seat, trying not to draw any more attention to herself. She opened up her new notebook and found a pencil in order to begin taking notes.

"All right then, welcome new student, I am Mr. Chandrid and I will be picking up from yesterday's lesson in which we were examining the various important parts of the geographic regions known as the _Woebegone Wetlands_ …" Mr. Chandrid then dimmed the lights, put on the projector; a piece of loud and clunky machinery which uses lights, mirrors, and the silhouettes of clear sheets of paper to make the image appear bigger for its audience to view.

Several of the students in Room Three continued to stare at the new student, longer than Holly would have preferred. She did her best to ignore the prying eyes, a word that here means intrusive and rather meddlesome to her concentration. However, it did take long for Holly to realize how utterly boring and uninteresting the geography lesson was to become. She tried to take notes on the _Woebegone Wetlands_ , but within a little while, she found herself falling asleep.

As most of you know, falling asleep while someone is talking is rather a rude and insulting thing to do, particularly if this person is describing instructions that could help you escape from the underground tunnels in which you had become trapped, or if someone is trying to communicate a secret message to you, but you cannot understand it as it was spoken in Yiddish, a language that is particularly difficult to comprehend. The only times it would be a good idea to fall asleep while someone is talking is when the words being spoken to you have little to no meaning, nothing that is viewed as useful or particularly helpful, especially if you are not receiving a secret code or being told how to escape underground tunnels. Additionally, I am willing to forgive Holly S. for falling asleep during Mr. Chandrid's geography lesson as she had not slept particularly well the night before, being out in the cold night air and sleeping on the ground underneath the school's administration building, a place in which you can understand is not very comfortable or forgiving to allow someone to get a restful sleep.

Holly's eyes began to get heavy and her head drooped onto the desk as she struggled to listen to the words being spoken by the teacher. However, the monotone voice of Mr. Chandrid, a word which means dull and not interesting to talk about a form of natural geography, became almost like a lullaby for the newest student, although the voice was neither soothing or put to music.

The girl's thoughts began to wander off, wondering what her father must be doing at this very moment. Her mind went back to herself standing on the street in front of the boarding school, watching as her father's bright yellow car drove off into the distance. She'd always been curious about where he would often go, disappearing for almost weeks on end without as much as breathing a word about it to her. While he could be viewed by anyone as a loving and good-natured father, his attendance in her life could be considered mediocre or sometimes poor, but not for the reasons you might think. He, of course, tried to be there for his 'little girl,' his 'musical major' his 'lady of disguise,' but unfortunately the man Holly S., knew as her father was someone who was off doing very noble deeds, that unfortunately sometimes took him far away from the girl that he loved. And while these deeds scarcely included bears, it did often involve the means of running away from authorities or running errands for a secret organization.

By the time class ended, the sound of the bell was what allowed Holly to arise from her sleep. She blinked several times in order to collect her bearings, trying to remember where she was. She then frantically worked to gather her notebook and pencil, shoving them into her bag and grabbing her unusually shaped case. As she opened the case to inspect her violin, she learned that the presence of her bow was non-existent. Immediately, her heart started pounding and tears reached the edges of her eyes. She became very upset, shutting her case and racing out of Room Three and towards the auditorium, thinking that she might find her precious bow there. She climbed the steps of the stage in a frenzy, but alas, the tool which allowed her to make such beautiful music was gone. And it was at that moment, the regular feeling she'd always felt while playing her favourite instrument and the mediocre emotions she had in her stomach while in the class had become non-existent, making her feel empty and very sad indeed.

 _Please Review_


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Do you think we'll find the girl who lost that?" Klaus Baudelaire asked, polishing his glasses as the group of five friends sat down with their trays for dinner.

"I hope so," Duncan Quagmire said, who still had the instrument component that belonged to the mysterious violin player tucked into his backpack. "It looks really expensive and too nice to be lost."

"I'm glad you took the bow Duncan, otherwise Mrs. Bass would have forced us to measure it," Isadora Quagmire said. The young girl who looked rather identical to her brother nodded before taking out the commonplace book from her uniform pocket.

Violet Baudelaire handed a raw carrot to her sister, Sunny Baudelaire for her to bite gleefully on, before speaking. "She was definitely much better than Vice-Principal Nero. In fact, I'd rather spend six hours listening to her than… whatever he plays."

The five friends nodded in agreement.

 _"_ _I'd rather have my own purely bleached,_

 _Then listen to our principal continuously screech..._ at the violin that is," Isadora recited a couplet from her commonplace book that she had written.

"She definitely looked like a new student," Duncan added. "She probably won't be hard to spot since she wasn't wearing a uniform yet."

"But she wasn't in our classroom," Violet said to Duncan.

"Nor ours," Klaus stated firmly.

"Well, there are about thirteen classrooms in the building in total. She's probably in one of the other ones," Isadora deduced.

"We should keep our eyes peeled for her in the cafeteria line."

The phrase used here of keeping one's eyes peeled is a merely clever play on words in which a person would keep careful watch for someone or something very specific, instead of peeling something such as an orange or their eyes themselves. The group of friends took turns watching the long line of students receive their food and drink on their trays. Some were not handed silverware as punishment for being in the administration building, and others had no glasses, meaning that they had not been present at breakfast time lunchtime, or dinnertime. Finally, several children had long bits of string with them, which one could assume were meant to tie their hands behind their backs for being late to class.

Eventually, Duncan Quagmire spoke up.

"I think that's her."

Sure enough, all the orphaned siblings at the table stared at a girl who was standing in line, who was not dressed in a uniform. Her mouse-brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, her vibrant green eyes stared nervously around as she received her food and glass of water. The Baudelaires could definitely tell that she was anxious because of her body language; they knew the girl was new to the school and she was likely feeling nervous about finding a place to sit as she had no friends that she knew. They were not sure if the girl would be nice or unpleasant like Carmelita Spats, the filthy, rude, and violent girl whom they had the unfortunate luck of meeting during their first walk through the cafeteria. The rather snobby red-headed girl had insulted the siblings, calling them 'cakesniffers', a strange and tactless nickname she had for anyone who displeased her, told them they couldn't sit with her and then began banging her cutlery on her tray shouting "Cakesniffing orphans in the Orphan's Shack!" And, much to everyone's dismay, more children, possibly Carmelita's friends joined in, making it a tiresome and loud chant that echoed through the building. It was not until Duncan Quagmire had told the nasty girl off and offered them a seat at their table did the Baudelaires feel safe and more accepted than they had in a long time. This girl, however, seemed rather shy and quiet, not particularly threatening or mean looking in the slightest.

As she approached the batch of tables, Duncan Quagmire thought that since he was the closest to where the girl was walking, he'd be the one to speak to her. He felt his heart begin to race unusually and he felt his cheeks turn red, which was rather odd as he hadn't felt like this before spotting the girl. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to prepare himself to talk to her.

"Excuse me?" he said loudly.

Holly stopped, slightly afraid that the group was about to start picking on her. Her green eyes scanned every face, and none of them seemed particularly mean or has the air of malice, a word which here means evil or has the intention of wrongdoing. Despite the outward appearance of the students' faces, she was unsure of how to respond appropriately.

"Yes?"

"Were you the girl playing the violin in the auditorium,"

Holly swallowed very hard, her mind thinking that they were about to insult her playing or tell her that she was now in trouble with the vice-principal for being in the auditorium when no one else was there. She felt even more nervous than she had before and was unsure about whether she should respond.

"Yes… t-that was me."

The Quagmire student cleared his throat. "We… uh… we found your uh… string thing," Duncan stammered, trying not to look too nervous in front of this girl.

"My bow?" Holly offered gently, managing to smile. She was relieved that she had not only received her precious bow back but also that these people were not going to insult or humiliate her.

"Yeah, your bow."

"Bow?" Sunny uttered in confusion.

"A bow for a violin is a tension stick with hair affixed to it which is moved across some part of a musical instrument causing vibration, which the instrument emits as sound. It's primarily used for string instruments and the tip plate of the bow used to be made of ivory, mammoth ivory, or usually in today's construction, metal, such as silver. A bow maker or archetier typically uses between 150 and 200 hairs from the tail of a horse for a violin bow…" Klaus explained.

"My brother, he…uh, he knows a lot about many things," Violet clarified her brother's sudden speech.

"More than his fair share," Holly smiled. "But that's a good thing, it's good to be well read. Anyways, thank you for finding my bow. It's very special to me, it belonged to my mother," she said smiling shyly at the Quagmire triplet who had first talked to her.

"Your mother plays the violin?" Isadora asked.

"She used to…"

The orphans all looked at each other reluctantly, thinking they might have met yet another orphan.

"Used to?"

"My mother passed away when I was six," Holly said sadly. She swallowed a large lump in her throat.

"We're so sorry," Violet said earnestly.

"It's okay… I always try to remember the good memories, even if they are few and far between."

The phrase few and far between is a sort metaphorical phrase that can be used to describe a great number of things that are scarce, infrequent, or hardly ever seen. For example, sightings of the Loch Ness monster are few and far between because such a particular creature can be seen as camera shy and not ever enjoy being the centre of attention. Another example is the fleeting moments of happiness I feel when remembering my beloved Beatrice; or in the Baudelaire orphans case feelings of safety and security in a stable home environment, something that is rare due the relentless and not far between appearances of an infamous villain named Count Olaf, who managed to snatch away the moments of safety due to his villainous schemes and pursuit of their enormous fortune. In the case of Holly S., she means that remembering moments with her mother were rare because, at such a young age, it is not easy to have fond and detailed memories of a woman who loved you and was no longer present in her life.

"We do too. We know how you feel, we've lost our parents too."

"Oh," Holly gasped. She reached over and grabbed Violet and Duncan's hands as a way to provide comfort. "I'm so sorry… I guess then I don't need to describe the kind of pain is felt by losing someone so close to you."

"No, you don't," Isadora agreed.

Holly then rotated, grabbing Klaus and Isadora's hands to give them the same comfort. She then reached over and patted Sunny on the head as the baby's hands were quite small to be given a firm handshake for contentment. However, she did not see the infant's face as she was masked by her elder siblings.

"It feels if there a large hole in your life and no matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter how much you learn about them, you can't fill it in again."

"That's exactly how we feel," Klaus nodded.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you lose them?" Holly asked cautiously in order to not upset her newfound friends.

"In a fire," Violet and Klaus said together.

"Feblan!" Sunny shrieked, which also meant, "We lost our home too and all of our previous guardians."

"In a fire," Duncan and Isadora said at the same time.

"We also lost our brother Quigley," Isadora added.

"Was he older or younger than you?" Holly asked.

"He was the same age…"

"So, you're triplets?" Holly asked, feeling slightly embarrassed that she'd assume such a thing. "Please forgive me, I didn't mean to insult your brother in any way."

"It's okay," Duncan smiled, this time he reached out and grabbed her hand, which caused a sort of jolt of electricity between the two of them. The two looked shyly at each other. Both of the children's hearts began to race at a particularly alarming rate. Most of the time, when one's heart begins to race it is either a signal that you have just run a very long distance and your heart is pumping blood in order to allow you to maintain the fast pace or you must go see a doctor immediately with the risk that you have tachycardia, a condition that causes your heart to beat excessively fast. However, in this particular case, neither Holly S. or Duncan Quagmire had just run a very long distance or had this particular heart condition, at least that I am aware of, but rather both felt a sense of ease and interest in one another that surpassed the friendly nature of their newly established relationship. "You didn't know, we will not hold it against you."

"Well, now I know the name of your brother, but I'd like to learn all of your names if you don't mind."

"I'm Violet Baudelaire, and this is my brother Klaus and my sister Sunny."

"Sunny?" Holly said, she peered around at the small child sitting at the cafeteria table. Both girl's face lit up in recognition. "Why hello again Sunny."

"Hi!" the infant uttered, showing her four sharp teeth.

"You two know each other?" Klaus asked in confusion.

"We met in the administration office," Holly smiled gently. "I helped her file some particularly difficult paperwork. Anyway, what kind of person hires a baby to be their secretary or educational receptionist? It's absolutely ridiculous."

"Welcome to the club," Klaus sighed sarcastically. The middle Baudelaire sibling, of course, did not literally mean that there was a club that believed that hiring infants as administrative assistants were completely ridiculous, but was figuratively describing the shared absurdity felt by all the children sitting at the cafeteria table at the vice-principals insistence that a baby working for him. "He's even forcing her to make her own staples."

"That's completely unfair. No offence to you Sunny, you seem like a very bright baby, with very sharp teeth, but there is no way that a baby can do all the tasks that tyrant assigns to her. She should be in nursery school or under the care of a trusted individual trained in Early Childhood Education."

"We wholeheartedly agree with you," Isadora said.

"Everything about this school is bizarre and rather depressing…" Holly paused and looked around at all the faces of her new friends and she knew she did not have to drone on about how terrible Prufrock Preparatory School truly was. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you Violet, Klaus, and Sunny and I didn't learn your names." She looked at the identical triplets.

"I'm Isadora Quagmire…" the girl introduced herself.

"And I'm Duncan Quagmire," the boy with dark hair smiles.

"It's nice to meet you both… Isadora and Duncan, those names sound really familiar…"

"Our mother and father said that we were named after a great person, but we never bothered to ask who it was."

"I think I read a book in my theatre classroom once, I think there was this dancer…" she trailed off, becoming deep in thought.

"A theatre classroom?" Klaus asked.

"For my violin lessons," Holly explained.

"We heard you playing in the auditorium, you're really good," Duncan said, smiling.

Holly returned the pleasant gesture, her cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink, which is a natural gesture that often comes when one is feeling nervous, excited or possibly in love.

"Thank you, although from what I've heard from Vice-Principal Nero, you don't really have a lot to compare it to,"

The entire group smiled and then grimaced, remembering the dreadful sounds that came when the bald-headed vice-principal strummed the strings.

"Well, we'd much rather hear you play," Violet said, pleasantly.

"Thank you, my father tells me that I can rival my mother in terms of her skills on the violin."

"If you have a father, why are you living here and not at home?" Klaus inquired, but then realized he might have overstepped his boundaries, which meant that his inquiry into his new friend's life could be considered inappropriate or painful for her to talk about. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right," Holly said. "My father dropped me off here to allow him to go abroad for work."

"What does your father do for a living?" Isadora asked.

"He works for some organization… I can never really remember a whole lot about it, mostly because the details he gives me are few and far between, but on the side, he drives a taxi cab for extra money."

"Our parents used to tell us that driving a taxi can be considered dangerous because you never know who will be driving you, even if they charge you a reasonable fee," Violet added.

"That's also what my father says, but he's a good person… noble even and he is someone you can trust. I don't get to see him as often as I'd like to…" she trailed off again, realizing that none of her friends would ever see their parents again.

"He must be a busy man," Violet said gently.

"Very… I'm Holly by the way," the young girl chuckled having realized that she had not introduced herself to the Quagmires and the Baudelaires. "Holly S."

"What does the S stand for?" Isadora asked.

"Well, usually it stands for…"

"Hello there cakesniffers," an obnoxious voice snickered. A girl with fiery red hair in unkempt curls, stood next to the cafeteria table, having announced her approach through the loud tapping of her tap shoes. She glared at them with a filthy scowl and she appeared to be a rather violent girl as her clothes were wrinkled and covered in dirt. The appearance of her clothing can imply that she had been outside on the schoolyard, pushing fellow classmates that she did not like. Holly also noticed that the girl was not wearing the regulatory school uniform, neither was she, but that was because she had yet to find one. Instead, she wore a frilly pink dress with a large skirt and a red jewelled brooch at her neck. She stuck her nose up at the group. "I see you've found a new cakesniffing orphan to join your club of cakesniffing orphans."

"She's not an orphan," Violet glared at the rude, filthy, and violent girl.

"Violet's right and I have a name you know, but I can assume that even if I tell you, you're just going to keep calling me that crude nickname."

"A smart cakesniffer, I'm impressed."

"Nothing impresses you," Klaus muttered under his breath so Carmelita Spats would not hear it.

"And I'm not a cakesniffer, which is not a real word, by the way, look it up in a dictionary."

"It is because I say it is," the red-headed girl snapped, angrily. "If you're not a cakesniffing orphan, then why are you sitting at their table."

"Because they provide much more pleasant and intelligent conversation than the one we are having right now."

The Baudelaires and the Quagmires do their best not to snicker. They were impressed by Holly's ability to match wits with the unpleasant Carmelita Spats.

"And being an orphan does not make you any different from other people around you."

"Yes, it does, it makes you a cakesniffer and you have to live in the Orphans Shack."

"Orphans Shack?" Holly asked in confusion, she looked at her friends for a point of reference.

"It's best not to ask," Duncan said, preferring to the keep the details of their former residence, few and far between.

"And people who have lost their parents is not something that is funny; it's sad and meant to be respected. I understand the Baudelaires and the Quagmires much better than you because I too lost my mother when I was young, and I don't have an inflated sense of ego or wear ugly tap shoes. We simply would have nothing to talk about."

Of course, by this point in the conversation, you could tell that the rude, filthy, and violent Carmelita Spats was not used to being talked to in a manner that mirrored her rather unpleasant personality. However, if you do not know already, an ill-mannered girl like Carmelita was always intending to not be made a fool of and get the last word in, a word which here means, getting the last word in a conversation. "So, you're a half orphan?"

"I am part of a single-parent family, something that is becoming much more common in recent years and I'd rather spend my time with people who I can relate to, who like me for who I am, no matter what kind of family I am from, and don't wear tap shoes on their feet, drowning out every word I say."

The fiery redhead scoffed loudly, tired of being stood up to, by this stranger. "I should've known you were a cakesniffer, but now that you are, you can't sit at our table."

"Such a loss," Holly smirked. "I'm weeping internally."

"Cakesniffing half-orphan at the Orphans Shack," the violent girl barked, before turning on her heels with a loud screech as she was wearing tap shoes.

"It takes one to know one," Holly hollered back at the girl as she stomped away in her shoes, which need a remind you creates a not very pleasant sound when applied such harsh pressure.

Satisfied, Holly turned back to her friends to see all of them smiling at her, very impressed with how she handled the girl.

"I think we're all going to get along very well Holly S." Duncan Quagmire smiled.

 _A/N: Holly finally meets the Baudelaires and the Quagmires_


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Friendship is a word that is used to describe the relationship between multiple people in which one can often feel a sense of comfort and ease when in their comrades' presence. A friendship can last as long as one or both parties desire them to; they can last from the early years of childhood, all the way to old age, or can last as long as it takes for these friends to use your talents for their desired worth and then lock their doors, switch their telephone numbers, and completely change their identity in order to avoid your presence again. If you are so inclined to one day find yourself in the comfort of good friends, you must also be wary of the kinds of companions in which you have asked to accompany you during your times of sharing a hot beverage or taking in the newest picture at your nearest nickelodeon. The best types of friendships are ones that are built on trust and the sharing of common interests, for example; I myself would prefer to create a bond with people who enjoy the writings of famous Spanish Poet, Federico Garcia Lorca and prefer to spend their spare hours of the day running from the authorities and crying themselves to sleep due to the dismal circumstances that have led them to seek out my companionship. The best type of friend will also try to strategize and solve the problem to help you evade the authorities or lend a comforting shoulder to help you through the continuous weeping. The unfavourable types of comraderies are ones in which a person you consider a friend is draining the energy and happiness, remain negative and toxic even in your presence, required certain deeds in order to remain friends, vanish in the times of great need, or merely creating a façade in order to use your talents to help them avoid capture and have you take the fall for their various arson and other unspeakable crimes.

The Baudelaire children and the Quagmire triplets were beginning to understand the types of friendships they were faced with when they encountered Holly S for the first time. Prufrock Preparatory School was often known to have the more unpleasant and undesirable friendships due to the horrible and depressing environment in which the students were confined to small places and scarcely encouraged to even discuss Spanish poets or how to elude the authorities. This was especially true with the girl known as Carmelita Spats, whom would be a combination of all the unfavourable friendships and would add her own cruel desire to wear tap shoes and put on horrible performances with herself as the starring role. Neither sets of siblings ever wanted to consider this filthy, rude, and violent girl a friend but were unfortunate enough to consider her an acquaintance, a phrase which here means a person whom you might meet in passing and perhaps know their name but nothing else. However, the Baudelaires and Quagmires had taken an immediate liking to their new acquaintance, a person whom they yet to learn anything about this girl beside her first name, and last initial, as well as her well-developed talent for playing orchestral string instruments. She was not considered a close, favourable friend… yet. Despite the strange situation in which the orphans and this girl had met, both sides of this acquaintency were determined to make themselves friends, not merely just any other student they might pass in the hallways.

"So where are you from Holly?" Isadora asked as the group of children walked, or in Sunny's case crawled, down the grimy halls of Prufrock Preparatory School.

"A small-town far outside the city, down by the seashore," the young girl answered.

"Is it close to Lake Lachrymose by any chance?" Klaus asked, adjusting his glasses so they would not slide off the front of his nose. The middle Baudelaire child asked this question hopes that he and his sisters would share common interests in terms of living in the same place; despite the fact that the Baudelaires had lost their Aunt Josephine and had nearly been killed in a hurricane while living there.

"Lake what? No, I'm sorry, I've never heard of Lake Lachrymose before. I'm from the Fidelis Fjords. It's up closer towards the Mortmain Mountains."

"By the Mortmain Mountains? Wouldn't it be cold there?" Duncan inquired.

"In the winter time, yes, it is quite cold, but during the summer months when the heat is high, there is nothing more enjoyable than taking a nice cool dip in beautiful blue fjords."

"Fjords?" Sunny screeched in confusion, turning to her older brother for a form of explanation.

"A Fjord is a long, narrow inlet with steep sides or cliffs, created by ice and or glacial erosion over thousands of years. They can often be found in any mountainous areas in places such as Norway, Sweden, Canada, Iceland, Greenland, Chile and so on. The use of the word fjord is actually a Norwegian term, but also translates into Danish and Swedish and is more general than in English and in an international scientific terminology," Klaus explained, reciting something that he'd read long ago in his father's atlas when he'd been interested in unique geographic areas. "If it's connected to the ocean, then it will likely be filled with salt water, if it's close to a lake, then it would be fresh water, if there is a river or a stream that has both, it would be a mix of both."

Holly looks at Klaus, extremely impressed with his knowledge once again. "It sounds like you have swallowed an encyclopedia Klaus, I should just call you _Mr. Encyclopedia_ from now on."

All the children laughed, even Sunny Baudelaire who did not fully understand the meaning of the joke, shrieked with giggles as well. Several students who were passing by glared at them in confusion.

"I wish that I could be as informative as an encyclopedia," Klaus said modestly. "I just try to remember facts that I find fascinating."

"Quigley would know much more about fjords than us," Duncan said, a hint of sadness in his voice. The two triplets looked at each other for a long moment before turning back to their new acquaintance. "He was always fascinated with maps and kinds of geography."

"That sounds wonderful," Holly said sympathetically. "I'm sorry I never got to meet him."

"I'm sorry you never got to either," Duncan whispered quietly.

The children walked along in silence for a few moments in honour of the deceased Quagmire triplet, a subject that kept the remaining siblings up at night, crying for him.

The orphans' new acquaintance then cleared her throat in an attempt to change the subject at hand.

"Well, Klaus, I know that you like to research things and that Quigley loved cartography, what else do you enjoy."

Isadora Quagmire immediately whipped out her commonplace notebook and turned to a couplet in which she'd written long ago that she considered a clever way of introducing her love of poetry.

" _When a person is stuck on what to say,_

 _I believe poetry is the best way_ ," she recited.

"Wow, I like that, so you're a poet, Isadora?"

"In a sense, yes," the female triplet nodded. "I mostly write couplets, which are only two rhyming lines."

"I love hearing poetry, it's such an interesting way to express yourself. My mother loved poetry as well, she said that they were often song lyrics that were spoken instead of sung."

The two girls smiled at one another, pleased to have found a common interest in which they could share.

"What about you, Violet?" Holly asked, pleased to know more about these children, who were becoming more like friends than acquaintances.

"I'm an inventor," the eldest Baudelaire sibling answered.

"What kind of inventions have you made?"

"Well, I have created a clock that also manages to toast bread, a device that would allow you to retrieve a rock after you have skipped in along the water, a grappling hook to get up to a high place, a lockpick to get inside a suitcase, and a teething device for Sunny when her gums were sore."

"I can imagine how sore Sunny must have been, her teeth look incredibly sharp for such a small baby… No offence Sunny."

"Dutrap," the youngest Baudelaire said, which probably meant. "No offence taken."

"Sunny has an interest in biting things," Violet said, scooping her sister up into her arms so she no longer had to crawl on the grimy floor of the hallway.

"Well, I'll be sure never to make her mad, lest I suffer at her teeth's sharpest wrath," Holly joked, which caused the children to laugh loudly once again. "And what about you Duncan?"

The male Quagmire triplet swallowed a lump in his throat and gazed into the green eyes of the group's newest companion. He especially wanted to form a friendship with this new girl due to the way in which her smile would cause his knees to weaken, his stomach to twist, and made his mind feel like it was drifting away. He cleared his throat and then attempted to speak.

"I'm… I… uh, I hope to be a journalist when I get older."

"Really?"

"Y-yes, I try to take facts on everything I learn, it's a good way to start practicing now."

"Practice certainly makes the improvement," Holly said.

All the orphans frowned at the strange and unusual saying that their new friend had just uttered.

"Isn't it usually practice makes perfect?" Klaus offered, in a meaningful way to be helpful.

"I refuse to believe because unfortunately, none of us can be perfect at anything. Both my mother and father believed in that and passed it on to me, remove of the harsh pressure and impossible standards that come with trying to be perfect. The best we can do is become better at the skills and things which we enjoy. I, personally, think that it's much better this way, wouldn't you agree."

The Baudelaires and Quagmires both smiled and nodded in great agreement. They understood that none of them would ever be perfect at anything that interested them. Even though she was a skilled inventor, Violet still made mistakes in creating her mechanical devices, Klaus would sometimes miss or forget important facts in his research, Isadora understood that her poetry skills were unlikely to ever be better than Muzahidul Reza or Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Sunny knew that even her sharpest tooth could no penetrate everything that she would bite, and Duncan recognized that not all his facts and articles would be completely free of errors and inaccuracies. They knew that they were enhancing their own personal interests to the best level possible, but never tried to pressure themselves to be absolutely perfect at them.

However, the one thing all the orphans could agree on was that Holly S., as her conversation with them had shifted her from acquaintance to the near-perfect friend for them.

 _A/N: I'm back guys! Sorry if this chapter is shorter than most so far. Thank you for the wonderful reviews, they mean so much to me. There's also a Latin word in this chapter and I challenge my readers to find its meaning and how they think it ties into the story._


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The group of near-perfect friends walked around a corner and into an enclosed courtyard where in the middle of this plot of land is a shack that is constructed to look like a house made of tin. The metal around the tiny place is rusted and dull, likely caused by the elements of inclement weather and wind storms. The newest member of the group looks on in horror and confusion as the Baudelaires and the Quagmires approach the wobbly looking structure, which means that it would fall over with the slightest form of impact, such as a man being spun around many times as his cloth headpiece is unwound and he bumps into it, causing it to tip over.

The group opens the door, which swings out sideways to reveal further forms of horror inside.

"Home sweet home," Klaus muttered under his breath as he and his sisters sit down on bales of hay that lay about in the corners of the tin shack.

Holly S. realized almost immediately that this place is inhospitable, a phrase which means that no one should ever have to live inside of it because it does not provide any of the comforts, joys, or reassurance of safety, as a place probably should be to even consider it a home. A basket in the river, a cupboard under a wooden staircase, or a box on a dusty road are examples of particularly harsh places for one to call home. I, myself have ended up living in places that can hardly be considered safe or comfortable. For example, after I'd lost the love of the woman I loved, I resigned myself for a time of living in a cave that was devoid of sunlight, it was cold, wet, and dank instead of warm, and filled with bats, which did not make me feel safe in the slightest. You might believe that I would despise living in such a horrid place, but I did not want to see the light from the sun because it reminded me of more joyful times; I would often enjoy meeting my beloved on sunny days which were warm and pleasant and quite often her eyes and hair would glow in the bright beams from above. The cold wetness dripping from the stone ceilings mixed well with my tears of sorrow and perfectly matched my anguished depression. And lastly, the flying companions which often hung upside down from the cave were blind, unable to see my face filled with sorrow and they themselves could not feel emotion, something I would envy of them for how ever long I remained there.

What eventually moved me out of my melancholy state and the inhospitable place I had called home was that one of the trained bats of a particular organization brought me a message in which I read by the narrow beam of a flashlight. The woman I loved had sent me a plea for help; a notorious villain had discovered her engagement to another man and had become dead set upon ending her life before she could ever walk down the aisle. My loyalty from our long years of companionship forced me to leave the cave from which I was hiding and travel up into the mountains to a secret headquarters to meet her.

Alas, the note became soaked in the water mixed with my salty tears and the remains were eaten by another flying cave creature, so I cannot replicate the complete message, but the statement that has stayed with me all these years was,

 ** _Bring a mask_** **.**

 ** _BB_**

However, what Holly S. found in this tiny place in which the Baudelaires appeared to be living was much, much worse than the cave I had hidden in. She noticed immediately that there was a horrendous smell radiating from the shack. To her, it smelled like rotten bananas or the death of an animal, possibly a flying rodent. In fact, she expected to see such creatures hanging upside down in this tiny tin room, but instead, there were long chunks of fungus that dripped down in occasional drips. Holly had to shift her body over several times to avoid being hit by the foul-looking mildew. The walls of the structure were once painted a bright green and had tiny pink hearts painted in random places. Fortunately, the age of the shack and splatterings of the fungus had covered the hideous paint job which would have made the place look like a tacky and unflattering Valentine's card. The girl then felt a sharp pain at her foot and saw a fairly large looking crab pinching at her toe. It appeared to be trying to defend its territory that was this miserable shack. The only things that could be considered comfortable or safe was a picture of the family on the tin wall, yet it did contain drips of fungus on it and the spinning light fixture which projected images of sea creatures onto the walls. Holly immediately realized that Violet Baudelaire had invented a method in which to keep the crawling critters at bay, but several of them had yet to find a hiding spot under the rotting floorboards and the creatures found the newcomer to their home unpleasant and in need of a good pinch.

"Is this the…?"

"Welcome to the Orphan's Shack," Duncan said as he sat next to Violet Baudelaire on a bale of hay, which Holly figured out were meant to be beds for the orphans to sleep on.

"You have to stay in here?!" she asked, her face expressing the shock and disgust of her friend's living situation. "This cannot be legal. No one should have to live in here."

"According to Vice-Principal Nero, we have to live here because we never had a parent or guardian sign a permission slip," Klaus explained as he

"That's completely unfair," Holly said. "You shouldn't be punished for not having parents. Nobody can live here. A wet cave filled with bats would be better than this."

"We don't have bats, but we do have crabs," Klaus said quietly, pointing to the creature that insisted on pinching at Holly's feet. Fortunately, the young girl had become fed up with the unnecessary pain from the creature and pushed it away with her foot. "And stalactites of fungus, which kind of makes it like a cave."

"Well I don't think anyone should be staying in here, how about we go to the Quagmires' dorm instead?"

Duncan and Isadora looked at one another before turning back.

"Our place is not much better," Isadora admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"Duncan and I live in a broom cupboard next to the fruit bowl in the dormitory."

Holly S. looked on, again equally horrified by the circumstances in which her other friends were living.

"That is definitely not any better," she said sternly. "How about you all come to my dormitory. I'm fortunate enough to have it to myself."

The Baudelaires and the Quagmires looked at one another for a long moment; while they enjoyed the privacy to discuss the mysteries that surrounded their lives, the inhospitable environment in which they talked was simply not their cup of tea. They all nodded in agreement and got up to follow their friend into her private room.

…

"It's not much, but it doesn't have any dripping fungus or crabs, or brooms or mops," Holly said, pushing the door open to her room.

She presented her living space to her friends. Neither the Baudelaires, nor the Quagmires had seen a dorm room since coming to the school, but they could not help but envy Holly for the comfort, joy, and safety that they themselves lacked.

The room was painted an unattractive beige colouring, none of which had any zest or excitement to it, but it was better than having rusty tin walls that had green paint and hearts painted on them. There was a real bed pushed up against the far wall, underneath a window that was still partially open; it was framed by light blue curtains on either side to give a more pleasant appeal to the room. The curtains seemed to ripple almost like water in the breeze, but the problem was the window would not close properly. In the corner near the door was a small desk with a table lamp that could hardly be considered appropriate for use to study late at night. There was a closet with several hangers inside and a dresser to put any additional clothing inside.

One might consider this place particularly comfortable and safe, especially compared to the Orphan's Shack, a broom cupboard, or a cave, but the girl couldn't help but feel sad. The room may be presentable, cold, but it wasn't exactly nice-looking and it still wasn't home for any of the occupants.

"It's nice," Duncan Quagmire said in a pleasant tone.

"Cabane!" Sunny shrieked in agreement. "Much better than the shack."

"The one problem is the window won't close so it gets really cold in here."

"Maybe I can take a look at it," Violet said, pulling her ribbon from her pocket to find an effective solution to her friend's problem.

"Actually Violet, I was wondering if you could make a light fixture for this room like the one you made in the shack?" Holly asked. "The sea creatures really reminded me of home and it does add a lot of style to such a dismal place."

"Sure thing," the eldest Baudelaire said cheerfully, glad to finally be able to use her inventing skills again. "I just need a small fan, a round piece of metal like a bucket, a small motorized engine, a bicycle wheel, and a chain."

Holly S. opened up her suitcase while Violet went out in search of the materials needed to create another elegant light fixture.

"We can help you unpack if you'd like," Duncan offered, knowing it was often impolite to go through other people's things, even when looking for arson-related equipment.

"I'd love the help," she smiled at the Quagmire triplet, feeling her cheeks flush pink again. "I didn't bring a lot since this was such an unexpected trip."

"If you don't mind me asking," Klaus said as he helped put away the limited number of books that Holly had brought with her as she laid them on the bed. "Why was this enrollment so unexpected?"

Since the library was only open for ten minutes per day, the middle Baudelaire had not been able to check out any books that interested him in such a short period of time. He began admiring the books that she had brought with her and hoped to soon ask to borrow several of the volumes. There were three books on famous violinists, thankfully, none of which included one about Vice-Principal Nero, despite his claims that he was famous. There was one book about Sir Barrymore Feint, the alleged founder of Prufrock Preparatory School. There were two mystery novels, one about arson and another about an unsolved murder. However, it was another book that caught his attention, one about how to properly disguise oneself. He opened the book curiously and noticed chapters on how to properly mix hair-dyes and what contacts best-suited one's eyes while on the run.

"I don't really know," Holly admitted as she placed a framed photo of her and her family next to her bed and then removed another photo album from her bag. "My papa travels a lot and he said that as long as I was here, I was safe."

"Safe from what?" Duncan asked.

None of them get the chance to answer when a photo slipped out of the photo album Holly had been carrying and floated gently to the floor. The entire room became silent as everyone stared down at the image. A photo that was very familiar to the Baudelaires and now the Quagmires too. A photo was of two newly-wed couples standing together next to a fierce and formidable woman and her husband, a skeptical and jolly herpetologist, an eager waiter, a devious optometrist, and a man whom they had never seen before. The entire group stood in a pleasant looking town with two smokestacks billowing white smoulder out of the tops.

Klaus Baudelaire took one look at the photo and then up at Holly S. and spoke six very distinct words:

"I think we need to talk..."

 _A/N: We all know this picture now, but why does Holly have a copy of it? Let me know your theories._


End file.
